Eroding Colors
by Morgan D.
None of these characters belongs to me. Last I heard they were claimed by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shueisha, Studio Pierrot, Fuji TV and Jump Comics.
The dialogue was extracted from the Brazilian version of the episode 107 of the anime.
Hints of Shounen Ai.
Another roar rose from the thrilled audience, and some cheering bellows were pinpointed here and there, as millions of eyes stared in hypnotic stupor at the giant screen. The colors raced frenziedly creating almost indistinguishable blurs as the cameras failed miserably to follow the fighters' astonishing speed.
"Jinn keeps charging the adversary," narrated an enthusiastic Koto, her amplified voice resonating inside the arena where the viewing screens had been installed. Unlike the Ankoku Bujutsukai, the public of the Makai Tournament weren't allowed to watch the fights in loco, since the current contestants were far more powerful and their attacks so much more destructive. Too many had died in the Ankoku Island, and this time the managers of the event weren't greedy bloodthirsty humans with no care for demonic lives, but a group of youkai with a strict sense of honor.
"Thanks to these two senshi," Koto continued, "we can now appreciate a rare fight being staged in this stadium."
Another choir of rumbling howls thundered in reply, and Mukuro silently acknowledged her agreement with the kitsune speaker's statement. When she decided to enter the tournament proposed by Urameshi, she had expected a much bloodier, more violent and barbarous spectacle, the conquering ambitions of thousands of demons colliding in the brutish battle to nominate the king of the unified Makai. But apparently the spirit of the tournament's mastermind was tingeing the black-or-white purpose of the confrontations. It was quite obvious that neither Jin nor Souketsu had any aspiration to the throne, contending in fact for the chance of running against Urameshi at the next round.
Such an intriguing character, this son of Raizen
, Mukuro let out a tight grin. Seems everyone is just dying to punch him in the nose. And conversely, there was no hate in the air. Thousands of different ki flaring around her, but in none of them she could sense the unmistakable scent of odium or malevolence.For Mukuro, that realization brought as much comfort as apprehension. She felt relieved in finding around her the same lack of hatred and anguish she found inside her heart now - after all those years guarding Hiei's teargem in her stomach. On the other hand, that new disposition left the whole Makai at the same ground with her: facing a future without a clue to its unfolding and their role in it.
What sort of devious creature was Yusuke Urameshi to come up with a simple plan that had swiftly annihilated five hundred years of war preparations? Did he know what he was doing? Hiei said he was sure Yusuke hadn't a clue. And for once she had believed him.
She ran her gaze over the crowd, trying in vain to spot Urameshi. Most likely he was watching Jin's fight among his friends in one of the smaller rooms. Again a lump of envy knotted in her throat.
A quick sideways glance told her that Hiei was still beside her, watching the fight attentively, although still trying to fake absolute disdain about it. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his usual bored frown in his face. But Mukuro knew better. Like animals of a same pack sharing a distinct scent, Jin had Urameshi's smell all over his aura. It didn't matter if the Wind Demon had been recruited by Kurama to serve Yomi against Urameshi. At the first opportunity, Kurama, Jin and the rest of Kurama's recruits turned the tables on Yomi and embraced the tournament project. And Hiei? How long would he resist the call of the pack?
She didn't fully understand the qualities that inspired loyalty in others. Centuries before, when she had began her bitter strife for power, she had never called for anyone's help, in stern belief that her way should be a lonely one. Notwithstanding she soon turned her head to find a numerous flock of mighty youkai at her back awaiting her commands and instructions, ready to die for her in the name of duty. They weren't only cowards trying to hide behind a power figure and win a few privileges, but brave warriors willfully joining her crusade and accepting the risks of such an adventure.
Mukuro had no explanation for it, and she wondered if Urameshi felt as perplexed about it as she did. After all, he had triumphed in gaining even Hiei's fealty and that was no easy trick. He just had to wonder about that.
Perhaps more troubling than the question of how the half-human had won Hiei's loyalty was why she felt that urge to fight for the young youkai's allegiance. It's been long since I've been jealous of anything. And even longer since I could find no means of getting what I want.
She caught herself dreading the prospect of having to fight Urameshi. Probably I'm the only one like that here, she pondered sourly, gazing at Jinn and Souketsu's eager efforts to achieve that honor.
She didn't fear him. She was very confident of her own strength, and the kid had a long way to go yet before fitting Raizen's boots.
If they had all clashed into war and Mukuro defeated the son of Raizen, she was positively sure that Hiei would gang with him against her. The call of the pack. But in that one-to-one clean combat basis, there was no call for revenge. Whatever the results were, Hiei would not interfere, as he would not permit anyone to interfere in his own combats.
However, Mukuro had seen the little demon's naked soul before her, as it tried to leave his dead body a little more than a year before. And she knew that whatever the results were, witnessing such a fight would tear down his already broken heart, pulling it inexorably into opposite directions. And that, after all she had saw in his spirit and memories, was a prospect she dreaded.
"Your friend is suffering much in the hands of the enemy," she commented, bringing her attention back to the screen. Jin had been trying to hit Souketsu for several minutes already, but the latter managed to block or dodge easily every single strike.
"Friend? Hn." Hiei looked away. "Anyone who steps into a fight is an enemy."
"I see," she replied thoughtfully. The black-or-white remark she had craved for. But the blazing spirit avowing it was just as stained by vivid hues as hers, and as everyone else's. You resent it too, don't you? she deemed. We're not beings of a colorful world, you and I.
Turning to gaze down at the public seated to her right, she easily spotted among the crowd the bright red mane of Hiei's former best friend and former other things. "Does that go for any kind of fight?" she asked Hiei. Except for a quick encounter under Urameshi's eyes - during which Hiei did nothing but engage in a bickering session against the half-human - the grumpy Fire Demon did his best to avoid meeting Kurama. And the Youko had apparently returned the favor.
"Of course," was Hiei's dry answer.
Her face softened, the smart remark she had ready to spit swallowed along with her annoyance. Why do your silly lies affect me this much?
It was both funny and disturbing that Hiei would choose to keep up a façade he had already lost control of. Most of his attempts of blocking her out - though not all of them, she had to admit - were nothing but farcical. But having been inside him and seen the dangerous world outside and felt the aching need for protection, Mukuro would not laugh. They both knew the new colors were gradually eroding their ground, and who knew if they were going to be able to glide their way into the air or would simply sink into the void.
There was a veiled menace underlying his statement too. If they both won their next fights, the following round would leave them to face each other on the battlefield. And then... Then what?
They weren't friends. They weren't enemies. By the rules of the competition, she had no command over him or any of her people. And by her honor, whatever feelings she might have about him shouldn't interfere in her efforts. They would only step into the field and lash each other... for what? The Makai throne? For sheer fight's sake?
Although Mukuro knew Hiei just as well as she knew herself now, she could only guess the young demon's feelings about her. She saved his life, against his claimed wishes. She invaded his mind, but also exposed everything she was, to her last shameful secret, to him. A demon's power gathers strength from the bulk and depth of his emotions. What kind of offensive Hiei would be able to put up against her? He had easily slaughtered five hundred of her men by unleashing a Black Dragon consumed by dark hazy feelings of isolation and severe depression. If he summoned the Dragon against her... right here in the Makai, where his dark flames would burn like nowhere else... Or is this madness coloring even the black fire from which our world was created?
Her eyes drifted back to Kurama. Mukuro had met the Youko thief briefly many centuries ago. He used to be a striking combination of paleness and glitter then, she thought. His usual white gauzy clothes offered no contrast to the ivory skin, and the silver hair and fur and the golden eyes might have added to the monochromatic feeling, weren't those traits so rare and ominous. Now his new body, if not as sturdy and imposing, was a lot more conspicuous, thanks to the crimson hair, beaming emerald eyes, rosier skin and garments like the yellow tunic he was dressing now. Has seventeen years among humans prepared Kurama for the imminent turn of the wheel on all of us?
In several ways, that pretty girlish face he had now seemed a lot more dangerous than the Youko's wild cynical grin. Was that what scared you away, Hiei? A silly question to ask him. Of course, nothing could scare the tough fearless Forbidden Child away. But Mukuro had a slight suspicion that nothing could frighten him as bad as a cute charming smile aimed straight at him. She had been there too. Long ago.
Poor Hiei, he had no chance against the old Youko fatal appeal. As she could hold little defense against Hiei's ruby eyes, which burned inside her as a river of lava devouring everything in its path.
She looked down at the shackles fastened around her wrist. The battered metal only reflected opaque shades of gray. In several subtle nuances, but definitely only gray. She sighed in relief. The old symbol of her hatred had become her last comfort in a decaying universe, the unmistakable sign that deep down, in the core of her soul, some things would never change. As long as she had the uncolored cold metal binding her hands and life, she would be safe.
June 1st, 2000
This story is part of the
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